


Bewitched, Body and Soul

by crackleviolet



Series: Victorian Mystic Messenger [2]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, I can't believe I did this to myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9626876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackleviolet/pseuds/crackleviolet
Summary: MC is taken to the house of the stern Mr Jumin Han, to whom she takes an instantaneous disliking. The feeling is very much mutual.





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you suggest, Luciel? This is a rather unusual predicament,” said Mr Han.   
  
Luciel considered his words and then nodded.   
  
“I suggest we keep an eye on Miss…”   
  
“Areum.”   
  
“…Miss Areum for now. We should not dismiss the facts that she has presented before us, nor that she may in fact be the person most in danger. As such, I suggest that she stays under the care of our group for the time being, with her comings and goings under constant surveillance.”   
  
“But!” 

She spluttered, though nobody seemed to be listening.   
  
“If it is to be surveillance, she is better off with you, Luciel, surely,” said Miss Kang, to which he shook his head.   
  
“If Miss Areum truly is dishonest, we must give her every opportunity to expose herself,” he said.   
  
“You just want to pull Mint Eye into the open!” Gasped Yoosung.   
  
“That’s very true,” said Luciel. “Now then-”   
  
He turned to Areum, grinning widely.   
  
“Who shall you be coming with?”

Areum glanced around the room, all at once surrounded by a thousand smiling faces and a dozen open doors. She did not wish to go with anyone, of course. She wished only to return to the Finchley house and apologise for her lateness, but it seemed that of the options available to her, that was the only one she was in no position to choose.

“I,” she said, meaning to express discomfort of sorts at her predicament, only to be interrupted.

“There is only one thing for it,” said Mr Han, stepping forward. “The girl shall return with me.”

“And why is that?” Zen guffawed. “You wanted her arrested not ten minutes ago.”

“Of that much I am quite aware,” said Mr Han, glaring at Zen as if he had openly admitted to something incriminating himself. “And had you not interrupted me before I had finished explaining, you might have heard the rest of it.”

He cleared his throat somewhat briskly before continuing to speak, while Zen scowled at him from the other side of the room.

“Of all of us standing here I have the most to lose from this strange group,” he said, “therefore it stands to reason that whatever plot this charlatan is part of will come to light if she returns with me.”

Areum was so anxious at the prospect of stepping inside of Mr Han’s house that it did not cross her mind that she should be offended at being called a charlatan.

“You say that you have the most to lose,” said Mr Kim rather quietly, “but we still don’t know what Mint Eye wants, precisely.”

Mr Han did not seem worried, however.

“What do groups like that always want? Money? Influence? I have both,” he said. “And mark my words when I say that I do not mean to let this woman out of my sight. She has already wronged me by trespassing on my property. I will not allow her the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand twice.”

She did not know the character of the man before her, but she guessed that he must have been a stubborn sort, for the moment his mind appeared to be made up, no one stepped forward to contradict him. As such, she also remained quiet, wondering what was about to become of her.

“If that is what you wish,” said Mr Kim, “I shall not interfere.”

“And if the boss is alright with it, then so am I,” beamed Luciel.

* * *

The cab ride back to Mr Han’s London apartment was almost unbearably silent. 

Areum had never been permitted inside of the Finchley’s cab and if ever she or one of the other girls were caught in its proximity, they risked a beating. Even though she was a guest in the loosest sense of the term, she could not help but feel as if she had wandered into forbidden territory.

Somewhat thankfully, Mrs Ridgebit was not there to see her in the back of Mr Han’s cab with her hands neatly knotted together in her lap, taking in the soft blue velvet and polished windows. More than once she peered outside and took note of the fact that she did not recognise the streets, wondering what she ought to do in case an escape route became necessary. Ordinarily such a question might not have crossed her mind but, to put the matter simply, she was having an unusual day.

The very fact that she had never before heard of Mr Han before was, in itself, unusual and she found herself wondering at his personal history. She was little more than a maid, of course, but from something so small as dressing the Finchley girls to tidying a particular room at just the right moment, she had come to know the names and fortunes of many of London’s quality folk. The Finchley daughters had used other girls as stepping stones for far smaller prizes than half of Derbyshire, so Areum wondered how it was they had not heard of him. Perhaps through some unfortunate circumstance, he was married to a woman far worse than any she had ever met.

Perhaps he felt the weight of her gaze upon him, for he turned away from the window.

“How fares my schedule over the next few days, Miss Kang?” He said. “If I am to keep an eye on Miss Areum, I should make the proper arrangements.”

Miss Kang opened up her book once again and turned its pages as if by memory, which was a possibility. 

“It seems you are free tonight,” she said. “Although you did accept an invitation at Shoreditch tomorrow evening.”

Mr Han sighed as if that prospect displeased him immensely.

“I cannot cancel,” he said. “The invitation came from an old friend of my father and he will almost certainly be offended if I do not show my face.”

Areum had heard of Shoreditch before, as a whisper while squeezing the Finchley girls into their corsets. More specifically, she had heard of the town hall; a place that Areum herself had never set foot and could scarcely imagine no matter how hard she tried. As a matter of fact, up until then she had never paid much thought about how little she knew of it beyond the name and its second hand grandiosity. She had watched the Finchley girls practice their dances and rearrange their ribbons in false refinement and that had always been quite enough for her.

For the first time, Mr Han looked into her face and instinctively, Areum glanced down at her shoes.

“I suppose,” he said, sounding not at all pleased about it, “that we shall think of something.”

* * *

Mr Han’s London apartments were situated in Piccadilly and she felt distinctly out of place from the moment she stepped out of the coach. 

At the very least, some things were familiar: Mr Han’s housekeeper bowed in a polite fashion as her master approached without the slightest hint of familiarity; the same invisible boundary in place that Mrs Ridgebit so often spoke of.

“It is a good day,” she said once, scrubbing the silver in such an exaggerated fashion that it brought a sheen to her face, “if they do not see us.”

Areum had never questioned why it was better to remain invisible, until Mr Han’s housekeeper bowed to her too, no doubt under the presumption she was of some sort of pedigree. As she followed Mr Han into a room filled with sunlight that appeared to be some sort of parlour, she was tempted to run back and invoke camaraderie with the woman and reassure her of their shared experiences. The serving staff were the only people she could relate to in this strange new place and she could not tolerate the idea that even they did not recognise her as one of their own.

“Now then,” said Mr Han, taking several steps into the middle of the room and standing before the fireplace. “This woman shall need a new identity if she is to remain in my vicinity. I have taken many great steps to restore my family’s good name and I do not intend to sully it now.”

Perhaps there was no Mrs Han, after all. That would be the most obvious objection to having an unmarried woman in such close quarters.

“I,” Areum hesitated, “I am happy to cook and clean, sir. I do not require any hospitality.”

She meant it as a courtesy, but almost immediately she wished she had remained silent.

“That is out of the question,” said Mr Han. “To allow you to cook and clean would be to allow you the run of my house. I mean to keep you where I can see you during daylight hours.”

“And during the evening, sir?” Miss Kang said.

“She will share your room, Miss Kang,” he said. “And you will watch her where I may not.”

Miss Kang gasped at the suggestion, clearly unhappy at the prospect of an intruder in her most private of spaces, though in the end she merely bowed and said ‘yes, sir’.

When Areum was little more than a child of six, a stranger came to the workhouse with a bag of money and expensive clothes. At the time, of course, any clothes that appeared in the slightest bit new appeared expensive and she had trembled uncontrollably at the revelation that the stranger wanted to buy a girl to take back to their noble estate. 

It was the first time she ever met Mrs Ridgebit and it set the tone for every conversation they had ever had afterwards. Mrs Ridgebit had examined her teeth, checked her hair for lice and sized up every girl in the workhouse in terms of general health. Even when she was eventually chosen, Areum was sure there had been some mistake. 

She was reminded of Mrs Ridgebit’s cold hands upon her jaw as Mr Han looked upon her. 

“For now I shall refer to Miss Areum as a cousin of mine,” said Mr Han. “About to have her coming out ceremony as a true lady. Miss Kang, she will require clothes.”

“It shall be done, sir.”

* * *

Miss Kang, at the very least, took quarters with the serving staff. It ought to have come as something of a comfort to her to stand in such familiar surroundings and yet she found herself unable to say a word.

There were so many things she wanted to ask. She wished to know more of Mr Han’s character, but did not know how to phrase such a question without confirming his suspicions of her character. In the end, she stood in silence as Miss Kang took her measurements and Miss Kang spoke only when to tell her to turn or to raise an arm. Areum supposed that she did not blame her.

Every so often, Areum cast a glance at her basket of apples, wondering what was happening at the Finchley house in her absence. Had Mrs Ridgebit sent another girl to look for her? Were they standing at the door waiting for her to return? Would she even have a home to return to when all was said and done? She would accept a clap around the ears, but the prospect of losing her job and her home in one fell swoop left her trembling so awfully that Miss Kang took some measurements twice.

She still trembled even after changing into a deep green dress from Miss Kang’s wardrobe and attaching Mrs Ridgebit’s watch to her middle.

She smoothed her fingers over the silver and wondered what might happen next.

Truthfully, however, she was not sure she wanted to know.

* * *

The afternoon was long. 

Miss Kang had errands to run-not only to fetch her some new clothes, but also to drop off her old ones with the strange Luciel. She wondered what unnerved her more; the prospect of her clothes being examined for proof of criminal activities or having to sit in Mr Han’s study while he sat at his desk and responded to letters.

“Do not touch anything,” were his only words to her as she took a seat by the window.

Areum did not know what he imagined she would touch. She was habitually disinterested in the hard-backed books of the upper classes, which previously had served no purpose to her other than to gather dust. As it was, she spent the time in quiet contemplation, watching finely dressed strangers pass by the window, all the while conscious of each passing second. 

Mr Han, for all of his talk of keeping a close eye on her, seemed to be doing everything in his power to pretend she was not there. His desk was positioned so that he faced away from the window and he did not look at her even as he reached for fresh papers.

It took exactly two hours and thirty seven minutes for Areum to have enough courage to speak; a fact she knew for certain from her frequent glances at Mrs Ridgebit’s watch.

Lord Finchley had always been the master, she reasoned, but he had never been unkind. She had never had his attentions like she had Mr Han’s, but she knew that he would be sympathetic under similar circumstances and it gave her confidence.

“I...uh, that is, Mr Han?” 

His reaction was immediate. Cold, grey eyes upon her and a stilling of his pen. Her reaction was immediate too; within seconds she lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling exposed where customarily she ought to be unseen.

“Can I help you?” 

“I…” Areum knew it was imprudent to ask favours of him, but she did not know what else to do. “I was wondering if I might send a letter to my employers. I do not wish to cause them any undue concern in the mistaken belief that I've run away.”

He fell silent in a moment of contemplation, before finally reaching to pick up his pen once more.

“If there is concern to be had,” he said, “I doubt that it shall be over your person but the silver around your middle.”

* * *

She did not shed a tear over that particular exchange, but rather waited until cover of darkness, when Miss Kang had extinguished the only candle in the room and drawn the covers. She turned over onto her side so that she faced the wall and allowed her tears to soak the pillow, scarcely able to believe she had found a person more loathsome than the Finchley daughters.

She wanted to go home, back to where her days were fulfilled and she understood her place. Mr Han’s house left her confused about both.

As she dressed the next morning, Miss Kang notified her that she was to take breakfast with Mr Han, a fact that ruined her day as it had yet to start. She had counted it as a blessing on that previous evening when he announced plans to dine alone, but now there seemed to be no avoiding it.

Breakfast had always been a hectic affair at the Finchley house, with the girls running late every morning and disagreeing three times over on how they liked their toast. Mr Han’s dining room was far less lively, even if the silverware was a good deal more intricate.

He had not invited her for toast and conversation, however, or even to pull at her hair as was the way with the Finchley girls.

“I mean for you to accompany me to Shoreditch this evening,” he said.

“I-”

“Do not jump to conclusions,” he said, putting down the newspaper. “Luciel is still looking into the Mint Eye case and until I know that you are innocent, I wish to have you somewhere that I can see you.”

Areum knew that she ought to have been most excited. She ought to have been clapping her hands together in glee, but all she could think about was the prospect of spending an evening in the company of the deplorable Mr Han. Not only that, but it was almost certainly going to be another full night away from the Finchley house, which would only make her present predicament all the more dire.

When she opened her mouth to speak, however, that was not the protest that came to mind.

“I cannot dance,” she said.

“Fear not,” said Mr Han. “I shall not ask you.”

* * *

Mr Han had commissioned a fine gown for her. Too fine, in her opinion. She did not know fashions, but the quality of the fabric was plain from moment she touched it. She had fixed such materials before while dressing Annette and her sisters, all while they chatted about which men were going to attend. Men whose private affairs they were sure they understood completely. Men who, for some strange reason, did not include Mr Han.

Areum considered it a strange twist of fate as two maids fastened up her dress and arranged her hair. She had always been on the other side and never in her wildest dreams had it occurred to her that someday someone would put flowers in her hair or put a ribbon around her waist. 

Her corset was two sizes smaller than usual and the dress was heavier than she might have liked; it floated around her ankles as she walked and she found herself considering its utter lack of practicality as Miss Kang arrived to escort her to the coach.

“I shall wait in the serving quarters for your return,” she said. “Mr Han ordinarily never stays too late at these engagements, so do not feel concerned.”

“You're not coming?” 

Over the course of the day, the pair had shared pleasantries and become better acquainted. They were far from one another's confidantes, but neither did they approach one another in the distanced manner of strangers.

“It would not be appropriate,” said Miss Kang. “Even if Mr Han would allow it. He is...far more conservative than his father.”

“I only hope I don't fall over,” said Areum. “I feel as if I'm going to trip in these shoes.”

“In that case,” said Miss Kang, “take my arm.”

Areum linked her arm in Miss Kang’s and followed her out of the house, to where Mr Han chatted with his coach driver, Mr Kim. 

It was a brisk evening and the moment she stepped out of the house, a cool wind whipped through her hair and billowed her skirts, dislodging one of the flowers that Mr Han's maids had so lovingly placed in her hair. It landed at his feet in a display of white petals and he turned, presumably in curiosity of its origin.

Areum already felt self conscious and the moment his eyes fell upon her, she glanced away, breaking out in goosebumps. 

“I,” he said, before clearing his throat. “Good timing.”

When she looked up, she realised that he had taken off his hat and extended a single gloved hand, ready to help her into the coach. Areum paused before laying her hand upon his.

Only the day before, Luciel had taken note of the burns on her fingers and in that moment she wore net gloves to shield her scars from view. Every scar from broken china; every burn and healed over callus. Her hands were undeniably those of a worker and would expose her despite any good manners on her part. They were those of a broken body and rising with the lark.

Mr Han’s gloves were expensive.

His hand was gentle.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr Han spoke only briefly on the road to Shoreditch.   
  
"Miss Areum, the people at this gathering will almost certainly ask you for more information about your lineage. It is imperative that you tell them we are related on my mother's side and not my father's."   
  
"As you say."   
  
And right there and then, the conversation was over before it had even begun. Areum presumed that he meant to resolve any potential controversies before they arose, though it only left her with more questions.

“And what shall I say to them?”

“ _ Pardon _ ?”

“When I introduce myself as some relative of your mother’s,” she said. “Presumably they shall ask after her health or in which manner I am related to her. What shall I say to them?”

She did not mean to be intrusive, though she understood how it might be seen in such a manner. She certainly did not question how it was Mr Han seemed to think so.

“Ah,” he said. “In that case express your gratitude, explain that you are my second cousin and tell them...tell them that she is better.”

* * *

As it happened, the town hall was every bit as overwhelming as the one that existed in her imagination. As she climbed out of the coach, she was practically aghast at the number of people in equally expensive dresses, proclaiming all manner of hopes for the evening that made little sense to her. She knew not one of their faces, nor any of their motivations and as she took Mr Han’s arm, it was oddly comforting.

A stout gentleman by the name of Mr Hartley greeted them at the door and from the casual manner of his greeting, Areum took them for old acquaintances, which as a matter of fact they were.

Up until only recently, Mr Hartley had been swallowed up in fog of despair. So much so, in fact, that most of his remaining friends and relatives were growing tired of his endless parties and dances. Barely a month passed that he did not demand some sort of gathering to distract himself from what he considered to be the painfully obvious emptiness in his life. In truth, he considered himself robbed, though not of any wealth or riches or even of a family member. No, Mr Hartley’s grief was far, far worse. 

As a young man, Mr Hartley and the previous Mr Han studied together at the same boarding school and grew to be lifelong friends. When that same dear friend passed away only a little over a year beforehand, he was unable to accept it for a fact. How does one mourn a friend? They were not family, not members of the same household, and every ounce of etiquette commanded him to act as usual. Mr Hartley wanted to wear black for the rest of his days, to retire into his house and never speak to a living soul, but instead he settled for going out of his way to extend the hand of friendship to Mr Han’s only son.

“I did not think you would come!” He said, clapping Mr Han on the shoulder. “It's been so long since you've left the north.”

“I can assure you that it was not an intentional avoidance on my part,” said Mr Han. “Of late my affairs have been...complicated.”

And as is so often the way between old friends, Mr Hartley and Mr Han said nothing more of the matter though exchanged the darkest of looks as if they meant to say a good deal indeed.

“I’d like to introduce you to my cousin,” said Mr Han, with an intent to change the subject. “She's new here in London.”

Areum feared the man might look into her face and see her for her backwater upbringing as the Finchley girls so commonly believed that they could of other people. A slightly extended nose or freckle in the wrong place was enough to leave them conspiring into the night, though the fault was not entirely theirs. They were not the ones to burn Areum’s workhouse clothing, nor scrub the stink and dirt from her body before she was permitted inside.

As it was, Mr Hartley appeared only a little confused before taking her hand and kissing her knuckle through the glove.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear,” he said. “How do you find London so far?”

Areum took in her surroundings: the faces she did not recognise, the uncomfortable dress she had had no choice but to wear and Mr Han’s expectant silence beside her. Mr Han who believed her to be a thief and worse, yet was introducing her as a cousin.

“It is not what I am used to,” she said.

* * *

“We shall stay here for no more than three hours,” said Mr Han as they entered the hall. “Now that we have made our faces known, Mr Hartley can only claim offence at an early retreat, but given the size of this gathering, it is unlikely that he shall be able to keep a proper track of the time.”

Areum barely heard a word that he was saying, she was too busy watching the careful way the serving staff delivered food out onto the dance floor. They were elegant in ways that she had never before seen, weaving in between guests like minnows in a stream.

To their immediate left, there appeared to be a large crowd of particularly boisterous women, all crying out in despair or glee at once over a particular person at the center.

“Now, sweet ladies,” said someone she recognised, “do excuse me a moment.”

It was Zen, the extraordinarily handsome gentleman from the previous day. He had on a shirt of bright peacock blue and several of his admirers appeared to have given him treats in the shape of earrings, bracelets or just plain foodstuffs.

“My dear Miss Areum,” he said with a smile and she knew without having to look that their eyes were upon her. “You're magnificent this evening.”

He reached out for her hand and she accepted the gesture, turning away from the icy glares of both his admirers and Mr Han as he planted a kiss on her knuckles.

“I did not know you would be coming,” she said, the delight in her voice completely genuine.

“Zen here is a socialite,” said Mr Han. “If you class such a thing as an honest form of employment, then one could say that it is his  _ job  _ to be here.”

“And, pray tell, Mr Han,” said Zen, “how does your employment compare to mine?”

Areum had the feeling the debate could go on for a while and watched Mr Hartley on the other side of the room. His greeting to each new set of guests was the same: a raucous laugh and question of health, followed by a gesture to enter into the hall without truly waiting for an answer.

And it was at that moment her blood ran cold, for Mr Hartley welcomed a number of faces into the room that she recognised and it did not ease her nerves one bit. As Mr Finchley shook Mr Hartley’s hand and each of his daughters bobbed down into polite curtsies that gave off the illusion of fine breeding and good manners-only half of which was true- Areum was half tempted to run in that direction, explain her circumstances and beg for forgiveness, though she knew better than to risk such a venture. Lord Finchley, his wife and all four of his daughters might have been sympathetic to her situation were she not plainly in an expensive dress, accompanied by Mr Han. 

“I-” She said, gripping onto Mr Han’s arm and wondering what to do.

“Miss Areum?” He said.

She wondered if she ought to tell them that that was her family, though in the end she did not get the chance. Mr Hartley, in his greeting to the Finchley family, did the honourable thing to a man with so many daughters and pointed out the richest man in the room. Mr Finchley might have been able to pass such an opportunity by, but Lady Finchley certainly could not.

Areum was not a proud soul, nor inclined to ambition, but her heart had skipped a beat the first time Lady Finchley ever spoke to her. It happened so very rarely and Mrs Ridgebit made it quite clear that they were not to expect praise, that on the one occasion the Lady glanced up into her face and, smiling, told her she was really quite pretty, Areum found herself turning into a babbling fool.

The opposite occurred as Lady Finchley approached on that evening, however and took her hand without an ounce of recognition.

“My dear,” she said. “I’ve heard that you are new in London. Perhaps you might enjoy the company of my daughters?”

Areum remained stiff as a board, watching as Lord Finchley introduced Mr Han and Zen to Charlotte in her favourite pink ribbons, Margaret, who was already huffing and puffing about some injustice or another, Annette, who took one glance at Areum and proclaimed that that was exactly the dress that she had wanted and Rebecca, who picked her nose and did not seem to realise she was being introduced to anyone, let alone two handsome strangers.

She wondered if there was a polite way to say that she would rather die.

“I should like that very much,” she said, knowing of course that if she went to tea with the Finchley girls she ought to consider death and dismemberment a genuine possibility. 

Somewhat luckily, however, they all seemed to be distracted the dancefloor.

“Look!” Margaret cried out. “Effy’s here!”

In the chaos of everything that had happened, Areum had all but forgotten poor Effy. It had not occurred to her that she ought to be worried about Annette’s rotten scheme and in amongst each of her individual worries about Mr Han’s strange house and whether or not she would have a home to return to, there was no room for concerns about the switching of the letters.

The realisation must have left her looking rather shocked, for Lady Finchley apologised for their spirited ways as they dashed across to the dancefloor. She stared, unabashed, at Effy in the distance. Effy who, by rights, ought not be there, and certainly not with such a bright smile. The truth was clear to her even as she watched Annette pull an envelope from the seam of her dress.

And right there and then, Areum realised the truth of it; that the Finchley girls had not been finished in their conspiracy when she left them and now they had something far worse in mind. Doubtless they still meant for Effy to pass on the note to Dr. Ingram and perhaps they had even convinced her to leave the note in their safekeeping to ensure she did not change her mind on the matter. However, this time around, it seemed they meant Effy's humiliation to be far more public, in such a manner that no one would suspect they had more than just a supporting role.

In about the same moment, Areum realised her tremendous good fortune. If the Finchley girls had continued in their original plan, they might have succeeded; as a maid, she was divided by several layers of social class and etiquette and had no power to interfere beyond the manner they instructed her to. As Miss Areum, the newcomer to London and sweet relative of Mr Han, it was not only expected of her to involve herself in such delicate matters, but she had the power to ruin their plans in an instant if she only considered her options carefully. She did not wish to make an enemy of the Finchley girls by drawing attention to herself, nor did she wish to cause a conspiracy, which would almost certainly lead people to unearth the truth that she had no real family ties to Mr Han, which would almost certainly cause a scandal.

She could not allow them to ruin sweet Effy, who had always shown remarkable kindness on the few occasions that Areum had actually seen her in person. Effy was a gentle sort, but never seemed to have realised that every cup of hot tea accidentally poured down her front, every accidental nudge that sent her stumbling, every piece of gossip accidentally misinformed was in fact no accident at all.

“I think that I should like to dance after all,” she said, turning to Zen and Mr Han the instant Lord and Lady Finchley found some other person to greet. “Would either of you care to join me?”

Zen beamed at the opportunity, though Mr Han’s expression did not flicker.

“Do not forget your place, Miss Areum,” he said. “You are not here to enjoy yourself. You are here because I do not trust you enough to leave you in my home.”

“Miss Areum is your sweet cousin and new to London, remember,” said Zen, linking his arm through hers somewhat forwardly. “It will raise far more questions if she does not share a dance or two.”

Mr Han glanced from Zen’s arm in hers to the dance floor and back again and seemed to come to a conclusion of sorts.

“If you wish to undertake in such vulgarity, I shan’t stop you,” he said. “But I will be watching.”

* * *

“Don't think too much into his words,” said Zen as he led her to the dance floor. “Don't tell him I said it, but he's mostly all bluster.”

Somewhat understandably, he had interpreted her quietness as offense at Mr Han’s comments. In truth, however, she examined the room for Effy and the Finchley girls, regretting her plan almost instantaneously. She had never seen Dr. Ingram before and there were so many nearly identical people in the room that she could not pick out one face or waistcoat from the next.

“You must know everyone in this room, Zen,” she said, the scheme coming together as if by magic.

“I do,” he said, proud in his knowledge, “why just over there is dowager Thornton. She has eighteen children and all of them are feline….The aromatic gentleman beside her is Mr Chalk: a man of fine breeding, but unfortunate biology.”

“Unfortunate...biology?”

“The man suffers from excessive flatulence. He has a shocking amount of money and a soft heart for the problems of fair maidens, but no one has ever been able to tolerate being in his company for longer than an hour at most.”

Areum tried to hold back her laughter, but found that she could not. To think that this was the wonderland the Finchley daughters dreamed about!

“And what about that gentleman over there?” 

She had spotted Effy a little while before, blushing in the presence of a man with sharp eyes and perfectly contradictory soft amber hair.

“Dr. Ingram,” said Zen. “Currently head over heels with Miss Euphemia, so if he’s your type, I should cut your losses now.”

“Not a problem,” she said. “Believe me.”

Areum wondered how events might have transpired if she  _ had _ actually met Dr. Ingram, as opposed to only hearing about his jawline and strange way of speaking as she dressed Annette and her sisters. If she truly had been born the blood relative of Mr Han, might she have felt differently about the plot to unseat Effy?

It was too late for sentimentality, however, for she saw Effy pass the envelope to Dr. Ingram. She knew she had to intervene before he opened it and the current dance everyone was enjoying gave her an idea. 

“Miss Effy!” Areum cried out, all but dragging Zen towards her and taking her by surprise. “I did not expect to find you here.”

Effy did not recognise her, but reached out to embrace her anyway.

“We met at the Wintersend dance,” said Areum, surprising even herself with how easily the lie came to her. “It was only for a moment, so I can't imagine you'll remember me. I'm Areum, here with my cousin Mr Han.”

Areum remembered dressing the Finchley daughters for the Wintersend dance and also their commentary for several days afterwards. Effy had most certainly been there and would not risk offense by admitting to the gap in her memory. As expected, her reaction was to feign familiarity.

“Miss Areum, it's so good to see you again!” She said. “I was just telling Dr. Ingram how much I was hoping to speak with you.”

Dr. Ingram was far too well mannered to express any sort of genuine confusion, just as Zen was too polite to acknowledge the lie. As it was, the men only pretended to understand both sets of falsehoods.

“Zen and I were just about to share a dance,” said Areum. “Would you care to join us?”

She was far from eager to join in the complicated display of outstretched arms and turns, but it was her best chance at getting close to Dr. Ingram while also avoiding his line of sight.

“I’d love that!” Effy squealed. “Oh, it shall be just like Wintersend all over again.”

As they approached the dance floor to wait their turn, Zen leaned across to whisper in her ear.

“What are you doing?”

Areum watched Dr. Ingram tuck Annette’s letter into the pocket of his jacket; a jacket meant for decoration far more than any sort of practical use, leaving the letter visible even after he reached for Effy’s arm.

“I'm fixing a mess,” she whispered to Zen. “I'll explain it to you later.”

After everyone had applauded the band, the next dance began. Areum’s initial steps were clumsy, taking one step towards Zen, then crashing into Dr. Ingram when she stepped backwards instead of swapping places with the person to her immediate left. She smiled widely, as if in bashful embarrassment and then readied herself for the second chorus. The next time around, she had a better idea of the footwork and slipped her hand towards Dr. Ingram’s pocket as she passed him, snatching the letter clean out of his pocket without him noticing.

Her terrible dancing had caught the attention of Zen’s admirers and they clamoured around the edges of the dance floor, waiting to ask him for the next dance. As everyone else turned to applaud the flutist, she slipped in amongst their ranks, leaving them to distract Zen and give her several minutes of solitude.

What a delight it was to be free again! Free to dart in between the strangers at the dance without a care who glanced in her direction. This was a dance that did not confuse her; dodging the drunk and the wealthy so nimbly that she was out of their sight before it occurred to them that she had crossed their paths at all.

She cast the letter into a fireplace and felt a strange sense of self satisfaction as she watched it burn. Effy would never know how close she had come to ruin. With a bit of luck she might-

Areum’s heart skipped a beat as someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned away from the fire and found herself looking into the expressionless features of Mr Han, who in all of the excitement, she found that she had forgotten.

“What brings you over here?” He asked and she glanced across at the charred remains of the letter. She wondered if she ought to tell him the truth about Effy, though decided against it. It seemed the sort of indelicate affair that would only further tarnish whatever terrible impression he already had of her.

“M...my hands were cold,” she said, feeling quite the fool for saying so, considering she wore gloves.

Mr Han considered her answer and for a moment she was certain that he had seen her untruth, though he did not comment on if he did. In the end he reached for her arm and led her back through the hall, all of the while complaining about Zen and his love for pretty faces and saying nothing of Areum’s taciturn silence, nor her backwards glances at the burning letter on the fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHE'S GOING TO REGRET THAT BY THE BY


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhat thankfully, Zen was not in the least bit offended at his last minute inclusion in Areum’s plot. As a matter of fact, he was more offended at being left out of potential gossip. Areum had not thought to find a friend at Shoreditch and, while Mr Han ignored her for the most part, Zen was only too happy to entertain her with the intricacies of who was engaged to who and scandals both past and present. 

The dancing, the conversation, the acting...all of it left her exhausted. Her eyelids were heavy as they took the coach back to Mr Han’s apartments and taking off her dress was difficult, as if her arms and legs were made of stone. That next morning was the first in her life that she slept in and, when she finally woke up, it was to Miss Kang’s gentle taps to her shoulder and announcement that there was a letter for her at the breakfast table.

Areum had never received mail before and did not presume to do so now. As she dressed, she wondered if her acting had genuinely been so convincing that someone meant to approach her in the hopes of gaining Mr Han’s favour. It seemed far more likely that it was a note from the strange Luciel, announcing that she could go home. 

As it happened, it was neither. The letter came from Zen.

**Miss Areum!**

**Good show last night. We should take you dancing more often!**

**It seems your little scheme with Euphemia and Dr. Ingram paid off. They danced all night and I hear there’s talk of a proposal. I’ve passed on your address to Miss Euphemia. I’m sure she’ll want to invite you to tea before the week is out.**

**Z-**

Areum practically bubbled over with glee and could not hide the grin from her face. Once, twice and then a third time she read Zen’s letter, hands shaking from the excitement. Were the Finchley girls receiving similar news at precisely the same moment? Only once had Areum known their plans go awry and they did not take such matters kindly.

“Is there something the matter?”

She had forgotten about Mr Han. He had been watching her all of the while as he promised he would on the dancefloor.

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” she said, passing him the letter without a moment’s thought. It was only gossip, after all, and she imagined he had far worthier causes to champion. 

Her fingers brushed against his as he took the letter and Areum reached for some toast in an attempt to distract herself from the memory of the way he had taken her hand only that previous evening. When Miss Kang had helped her out of her dress and asked about the night’s proceedings, Areum found that she returned to the moment Mr Han reached out for her hand several times over. 

“I see,” he said, laying down the paper in the centre of the table. “I believe Miss Euphemia has far more important things to consider than whether or not to invite a stranger to tea.”

“Naturally,” said Areum, considering that she was a prisoner and a maid and if going to the dance had been overwhelming then it would be a miracle if she could stand keeping up the charade while surrounded by curious strangers. There was bound to be someone there with an eye for marriage who wanted to know more about Mr Han’s estate in Derbyshire; a place that Areum the maid naturally knew very little of, though Areum the cousin should know in detail.

* * *

 

Over the next two days Areum sat in the window of Mr Han’s study while he scripted letters, recounting the soft cakes and fragrant teas she had become accustomed to preparing for the Finchley daughters on the occasions they had guests. As she watched the quality folk pass her by, she ran her fingers along Mrs Ridgebit’s watch and remained somewhat self-assured in the knowledge that such things had never been in her future and she had no real reason to be disappointed.

Even so, when a letter arrived for her, she could not help but feel delighted. She took in Effy's careful penmanship with trembling hands, convinced for the first time beyond all measure of doubt that some good fortune might come from her seclusion at Mr Han's apartments. If her smile did not capture his attentions, then the manner in which she almost immediately thrust the letter into his face almost certainly did. For a brief moment, he was the master of nobody's house, nor she anyone's intruder. She almost believed she was a quality woman, the same as any other, overeager at the prospect of conversation. Her heart raced with joy the likes of which she had never known before, all the while wondering if this was her chance to see Effy's home. She had only ever heard about it second or third hand; only ever teetered on the brink of curiosity, though now that she was so close that her fingers twitched automatically for the teapot she could not settle on a singular thought.

Mr Han, however, shook his head only moments after reading the invitation.

"Inappropriate," he said. "I cannot have you leave these apartments for now."

Areum stared down at her toast, eyes welling with tears she did not understand the purpose of.

"Am I to remain a prisoner here?" She burst. "Am I to stay here morning, noon and night but by your say so?"

"Miss Areum, you forget your place."

"I have forgotten nothing! All I have ever asked of you prior to this moment is for a letter to my previous employers, which you refused me even then. It was not I who suggested I be named your distant cousin and paraded at Shoreditch. I did not ask for this dress, nor these shoes, nor a seat at your table before you volunteered it.”

Before she knew it, she was back in the room she shared with assistant Miss Kang, in floods of tears and with her face buried in the pillows.Oh, if only she could leave! If only she could go home to where things made sense! Prior to the past few days she would never have dreamed of attending morning tea.

* * *

That evening, as Miss Kang undressed for the night, she had an important announcement.

“I understand I am to to take you out the day after tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand,” said Areum. “Mr Han told me I was not to go.”

Miss Kang was not of a mind to give her an answer. Instead she chewed her lip as she ran the brush through her hair.

“It was Mr Han who told me to take you.”

* * *

The next morning, Areum woke early, convinced that she should thank Mr Han for his generosity. He had been so opposed to such a matter only recently and she could not help but wonder what it was that changed his mind. She dressed quickly, barely paying any attention to her hair and bracing herself for his disapproval. He was not there, though, when she arrived and instead the maids arranged the table for one.

“Where is Mr Han?” Areum asked, unable to conceal her curiosity. 

Mr Han had been incredibly reluctant to leave her in the house, going so far as to take her to Shoreditch and lie about their relationship. The confusion must have been written across her face, for one of the maids gave her a sympathetic look as she rearranged the silverware.

“He is on errands today, ma’am.”

“Errands?”

“The master only ever comes to the city for business. He much prefers the countryside. Of late, though-“

Before she could continue, one of the other maids shushed her in a tone Areum knew too well-that whatever they were about to say was something outsiders ought not know. 

“Well,” the maid gathered herself together and pulled out a chair. “He likes the country air!”

Areum took breakfast alone, wondering what sort of urgent business might bring Mr Han to the capital. He certainly hadn’t seemed busy in the short time she had known him and she did not want to entertain the possibility that he had pushed aside such important matters because of her presence in his home.

Somewhat infuriatingly, her quiet contemplation left her in dampened spirits even as she climbed into a carriage with Miss Kang. After discovering Zen was to be at Effy’s house, Miss Kang had been unable to hide her enthusiasm, leaving Areum more irritated that of all of the things she might be thinking of, her mind returned to Mr Han. Even as she untied her bonnet at Effy’s front door, Areum could think of little more than the snide remark waiting for her the moment she returned. 

For days, Areum had contemplated what might be waiting for her in the secret world of Quality girls. She expected cake, bright furnishings and fine dresses and in that respect was not disappointed. Every woman in the parlour was a masterpiece of carefully spun lace and silks and the room lay perfumed with the scent of sweet cakes and bitter tea leaves.

It was strange to think that Annette’s letter was to blame for her present situation. If she had not sought to intervene, perhaps she would still be at the Finchley home, dusting dresser drawers and polishing silverware. Perhaps she might develop a friendship with Effy after Luciel proved her innocence. Effy was kind and generous and would almost certainly be sympathetic to her woes.

Unfortunately, on that day Effy’s only woes were her own. She sobbed into a neatly embroidered handkerchief, hair rumpled and coming loose from its pins. Areum could do little more than gasp at the terrible sight.

“Terrible, isn't it,” said a beautiful woman standing a little way behind the door. 

Areum had never seen her before at the Finchley home and it was easy to understand why. Not only did she have sharp eyes, and jewelled pins in her hair, but wore an almost audaciously bright dress and glittering rings. Areum could sense Annette’s disdain and jealousy even without her present. Effy was an easy target because of how oblivious she usually was, but she got the impression this other woman was not to be taken so lightly.

“What happened to Miss Effy?” 

Had she left just enough of the letter that Effy’s reputation lay in ashes? Had Annette made another move? Every possibility seemed worse than the last.

“Ah, it was a terrible business,” said the strange woman, taking a sip of her tea and giving Areum a far from discreet once over. “My name is Sarah. I’m-“

Her gaze fell on Areum’s hands and immediately she froze. 

“Dear, dear,” she cried out, “darling your hands are empty and that just won’t do!”

Miss Kang bowed her head at the observation.

“I will fetch you some tea, Miss Areum,” she said, “please excuse me.”

Areum nodded her dismissal before turning to introduce herself.

“I haven’t seen you before,” said Sarah. “Are you new to the city?”

Without Miss Kang there, Areum felt far more nervous than before. She gave her surroundings a quick second glance, searching for either Miss Kang or Zen. He had promised that he would be there and, given Mr Han’s scathing criticism of his socialite profession, felt inclined to believe him. 

Her worries must have transferred to her face, for Sarah reached out for her hand, squeezing tightly against her gloves.

“Uh,” she said, heart freezing in her chest as she ran a finger across the fabric. “M-my name is Areum. I’m staying with my cousin, Mr Han.”

“Mr Han?” Sarah cried out, eyes bright with recognition as she tugged Areum even closer. “Oh it’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“You know him?”

“You might say that. Tell me, how fares his mother these days?”

Areum was suddenly grateful that she had made a point to ask Mr Han for the scarcest of details about his personal life.

“She’s better. I’ll be sure to let her know that you asked.”

For a moment she was sure she spotted a flash of confusion in Sarah’s eyes, though it passed over very quickly.

“I see,” she said, taking another sip of tea as Effy wailed into the shoulder of the girl sitting next to her. “Well as far as Miss Euphemia goes, it’s quite a tragic story. Her budding relationship with the good doctor has been the talk of almost every afternoon tea for the past year. I thought they’d be married by the spring, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“Mistaken? Why would you be mistaken?”

“Well…” Sarah lowered her voice to ensure no one but Areum would hear. “It appears an old friend of Ingram expressed concerns about the match. That Miss Effy had ulterior motives in pursuing a marriage.”

“Ulterior motives? W-what kind of ulterior motives?”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know,” said Sarah, “that old friend of Doctor Ingram is your own sweet cousin.”

“My  _ what _ ?”

Areum couldn’t tear her thoughts away from his final words to her at the dance and her own duplicity. Had he seen the note after all? She doubted he would have stayed quiet about it if he had. Oh, how she wished she had only told him the full story!

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah, “this must be a harsh revelation for you, especially so soon after your arrival here in London. The country is so much quieter...far fewer rumours. Oh sweet girl, there’s so much you don’t know.”

“Such as?”

Areum couldn’t be certain what might go through the minds of a rich girl stepping out for the first time, but she did know that every single one she had ever seen had an endless appetite for rumour and scandal. Even Effy had demanded sordid details over the misfortunes of others in the Finchley’s home.

“Well,” said Sarah, only too eager to oblige, “it’s rare to see such a man as your cousin here. I don’t blame him. Every time he comes here, scandal soon follows. Why only last year, I myself crossed paths with him and wound up worse for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, we got into a disagreement, naturally,” said Sarah. “Disagreements come so naturally to Mr Han, wouldn’t you say?”

Areum found she could not object to the notion of Mr Han having a disagreeable nature. In all of the time they had known one another, he had been insufferable and arrogant.

“In any case,” said Sarah. “He decided I was a bad sort and had me cast out of most circles. For many months, I had no house to return to...no bed to stay warm.”

She dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief, clearly troubled by her difficult circumstances. For Areum everything seemed to fit together: Mr Han’s opinionated nature and insistence of convention; his decision at their first meeting that she be tried by the law. He had believed her to be a bad sort too, with no evidence to speak of. 

From Sarah’s tone, she doubtlessly expected such a revelation to come as a shock, but Areum found she was not surprised in the slightest. She was, however, furious at the terrible personality and prejudices of her host.

“I…” Areum said, “I have to go.”

* * *

Areum remained silent all of the way back to Mr Han’s house. Miss Kang did not ask why she decided to leave so very suddenly, nor why she refused to take so much as a sip of tea. Areum was somewhat grateful for her careful consideration, unsure of what exactly she might tell her. She could not avert her attentions from Effy’s tears and Sarah’s sad history, wondering all of the while if she was to be just another pawn Mr Han cast aside at the earliest opportunity. With every day that passed, the more unlikely it became that she would ever return home to the Finchley house, much less be accepted back into their employment. Was Areum to be made destitute or worse when he had no further use for her?

When Miss Kang finally spoke, it was to express her confusion at something outside of her window and it was not difficult to understand why. Mr Han stood on the doorstep of his house, overseeing several members of staff as they darted back and forth with luggage.

“Mr Han,” said Miss Kang as she hopped down to the floor, “what on earth is going on?”

His expression barely changed as Areum peered through the open door, anxiously watching each and every maid and box of belongings.

“I met with Luciel earlier,” he said. “He and his colleagues managed to make a breakthrough with the case.”

“They did?” Areum cried, climbing out of the carriage in such an undignified manner that it didn’t surprise her in the slightest when Mr Han sighed his disapproval.

“It is not your concern,” he said, as if she had asked him something far more intrusive.

“This matter is more my concern than yours,” she said, far too infuriated at his meddling to offer her usual courtesy. “If I am innocent, I would like to know.”

Her words were not intended to be cruel, yet she worried that they might be the moment they crossed her lips. 

“We are to leave London at once,” he said, explaining none of the breakthroughs he had only recently announced. “Gather your things. We leave in an hour.”

“What about me, sir?”

“What  _ about  _ you?”

“I...I just…”

Areum did not presume that he meant to take her with him and waited at the carriage even after Miss Kang rushed into the house.

It seemed almost too much to hope that he might draft a letter to the Finchleys, explaining everything that had happened to her when she returned. A man such as him surely commanded enough influence to persuade them to forgive her and, all things considered, she wanted their forgiveness most of all. Playing at being a rich girl had been exhausting and she longed for familiar faces. The departure almost came as a relief. Everything could go back to the way that it always had been, as if none of the last few days had happened.

“Gather your things,” he said, in a slightly firmer tone than before. “We’ll talk more when we get to Pemberley.”

Areum’s only personal possession was the silver watch she had accidentally stolen from Mrs Ridgebit. Over the chaos of packing, she wrapped it around her neck, recalling Mrs Ridgebit’s words and every strange thing to happen since. So much had changed and yet so little. 

She clenched her fingers around the metal, deciding that once they got to the country, she would fix everything. She would convince Mr Han of Effy’s innocence, convince him to be more lenient to Sarah. 

Last of all and perhaps most importantly, she would find some way to escape him forever.


	4. Chapter 4

A word, perhaps, about Pemberley house. **  
**

Many hundreds of years before Miss Areum or Mr Han drew breath, it belonged to a Countess of great repute and incredible vanity. It’s not clear when exactly she decided upon it as a personal project, only that through multiple marriages and favours to the crown, she was able to expand it several times over. By the time of her death, the house was barely recognisable from its humble beginnings. Pemberley rivalled most palaces of its era in terms of grandeur, though its remote location came at a great cost; it was far less renowned than others in the region and all but impossible to find in bad weather. The Countess craved admirers and praise, but few of her peers were willing to travel through the winding moors and woodland for a simple visit.

Even if Areum were better educated and from a noble family, it is unlikely that she would know of Pemberley. As a matter of fact, Areum had never travelled outside of London and the prospect of doing so left her incredibly nervous. She planned to take the earliest opportunity to escape, though the further she travelled from the city, the more she realised how unrealistic it was to presume she would be able to find her way back. She had no pennies to rub together; no idea of the roads.

Somewhat luckily, Miss Kang was just as uneasy with the situation as she was and far less concerned about speaking her mind.

“We didn’t give the staff any warning,” she said dragging out her notebook and scribbling amendments to several entries. “We weren’t scheduled to be back for a week and-”

“I know,” said Mr Han, without turning away from the window.

Miss Kang sighed and lowered her pen.

“What was it that Luciel told you?” She asked, lifting the notebook to her lips and blowing on the ink. “It isn’t like you to be so impulsive, sir.”

Mr Han took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, changing it from pristinely brushed back to falling around his face. Areum wasn’t sure why, but watching felt oddly intrusive and she averted her eyes back to the window.

“He told me,” said Mr Han, seeming to contemplate it even as he spoke, “that he received an anonymous tip from an insider at Mint Eye…someone keeping an eye on them for quite some time and understands their methods.”

Miss Kang’s eyes grew wide at the revelation, lowering her notebook onto her lap.

“By an insider…” She said. “Could it be a hoax?”

“I suspected the same,” said Mr Han, “but they had information yet to be revealed to the public.”

“Information?”

At that Mr Han fell silent, glancing briefly across at Areum.

“The source specifically referenced that Mint Eye has no member by the name of Areum nor any plans to send spies into our group at this point in time,” he said. “Their goals are rather more…ambitious.”

Areum’s heart skipped a beat at the knowledge that someone somewhere had tried to clear her name. Neither Miss Kang nor Mr Han seemed as happy about the news, however.

“I don’t understand,” she said before she could stop herself. “Isn’t that good news?”

Mr Han let out a sigh of frustration and Areum wondered if she had made a mistake by speaking at all. Ultimately it was Miss Kang who answered, in a soft voice far removed from her status as page.

“It’s certainly good to hear that you might be innocent,” she said. “But your presence here is known only to a small number of people. For a stranger to know not only that you are with us, but also the subject of suspicion, well…we must be prepared for the possibility that they have been watching us from the beginning.”

Areum’s blood ran cold at the prospect. She could think of nothing but how many times she had taken a seat in Mr Han’s window, watching wealthy strangers go about their daily lives. The idea of someone watching her back left her uncomfortable.

“But then,” she said, wondering if she truly was as idiotic as she felt for having as many questions as she did, “if you know that I’m innocent, why are you taking me with you? If I’m cleared from suspicion, there’s no need for me stay.”

Evidently Miss Kang wondered the same thing, for she turned to Mr Han instead of making any attempt to answer. He said nothing, though, breaking his gaze and turning back to the window.

* * *

The journey to Pemberley was long, usually lasting about two days. Come dusk they took refuge in the countryside estate of Jumin’s aunt, better known as the Dowager, Lady Margaret. Her lands were not so impressive as Pemberley, though there was no denying her expensive taste. Areum stared in awe at the high ceilings and starlit windows.

Ever considerate, Mr Han had sent a messenger ahead of time to announce their arrival, leaving the Dowager plenty of time to prepare several rooms and a proper welcome. Areum’s stomach turned somersaults as she followed Miss Kang and Mr Han into the mansion, eyes darting left and right in an attempt to take in every painting and candelabra. Areum knew nothing of the Dowager, but she surmised from the fine layer of dust on the more ornamental of her possessions that the woman had more trinkets than sense.

The Dowager waited for them in the parlour with a warm fire and expression of scrutiny.

“Ahhh, Jumin,” she said as the three of them bowed their heads in greeting, Areum making a clumsy attempt at a curtsey. Though the Dowager made little to no effort to look them in the face, Areum got the impression she took in every detail. “How are you?”

“It’s good to see you,” said Mr Han. “Though I am sorry to take advantage of your hospitality in such a fashion.”

“Ahhh, it is no mind.”

She glanced from Mr Han to Miss Kang with a smile.

“Miss Kang, is it?” She asked, seemingly drawn to her by the awkward way she shuffled on the spot.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Miss Kang, bowing her head a second time.

“How are you finding your current position? Is it to your liking?”

“I…yes Ma’am. I enjoy it a great deal.”

“Fascinating. It is…unusual for a woman to take on a valet’s responsibilities.”

“Mr Han is very forward thinking, Ma’am.”

And just like that, her attentions fell to Areum.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” said the dowager and Areum’s mind went blank. She knew she ought to introduce herself, but she got the distinct impression that the dowager would be less inclined to believe the story about her being a distant cousin.

“M-My name is A-Areum, ma’am,” she stammered, “I…”

Luckily, Mr Han had prepared for such a sequence of events even before coming to the conclusion that they might visit.

“Areum is to be Elizabeth’s governess,” he interrupted, prompting guffaws of laughter.

“Well it’s about time! Tell me,” the Dowager fumbled with a set of spectacles to view her better. “How many languages do you speak? French? German?”

Areum felt herself flushing a bright red, acutely aware of the fireplace behind her.

“Only the one, Ma’am.”

“Do you sing? Play the piano?”

“Not very well, Ma’am.”

In one of her more rebellious moments, she had taken seat at the piano in the Finchley house and played the keys she was supposed to be cleaning. It would probably be more accurate to suggest she did not play at all, though she got the impression that the Dowager would disapprove of such a fact.

As expected, she lowered her spectacles with an expression of both surprise and disappointment.

“Well that’s no use,” she said, though not to Areum, but Mr Han himself, who seemed completely disinterested in her opinions one way or the other.

“Elizabeth needs the company,” he said. “Miss Areum may not be the most intelligent of her ilk, but she is loyal… and good natured.”

Mr Han had never praised her before and it sounded not only awkward but positively unnatural. The dowager seemed to notice, too, for her immediate reaction was to laugh.

“Sweet tempered and loyal,” she said, “you speak of the poor girl as if she is some sort of terrier.”

“Apologies,” said Mr Han, bowing briskly. “I say only what I know to be true.”

If Areum didn’t know better, she might have thought he was embarrassed. Where before she was nervous, now her only concern was to avoid laughing.

She couldn’t help but wonder if the sudden trip to the country would be so terrible, after all.

* * *

After their introductions to the Dowager, Mr Han, Miss Kang and Areum retired to their rooms for evening with the express instructions that they were to dress for dinner. Miss Kang was unhappy about the arrangement even if she did not say so, rummaging in her luggage for a proper dress. Ordinarily, she wore plain clothes in the style one would expect of a man and it was all too clear from her stiff movements and stern expression that she considered anything else an imposition.

Despite everything, Miss Kang had had the foresight to pack several of Areum’s new dresses into their luggage for the night and as they fiddled with the ribbons on their dresses, Areum finally broached the subject that had been bothering her for most of the evening.

“Who is Miss Elizabeth?”

Areum had at first wondered if such a person might be Mr Han’s wife, though it seemed unlikely a grown woman would require a governess. Unfortunately, the thought of Mr Han having a child seemed equally unbelievable.

“She is a ward of Mr Han’s,” said Miss Kang. “For the past year or so, she has lived with him in his estate.”

“A ward? So she is not his child?”

Areum didn’t know why it disappointed her that she might be.

“Not through blood,” said Miss Kang. “Miss Rika and Mr Kim…the pair of them would travel between workhouses and buy as many people out of poverty as they could. They gave them clothes, houses, an education…they reformed them, integrated them into society. Mr Han owns factories and businesses all over the country, so it wasn’t difficult to find them well paid work.”

Areum was sure she would never forget the day Mrs Ridgebit bought her out of the workhouse, nor the heady mix of joy, hope and other emotions rushing through her that she had not been able to understand as a child. For Mr Kim and Miss Rika to undertake such altruistic pursuits, they must have been kind souls indeed.

“A few years ago, the pair of them came back with Miss Elizabeth. She was all skin and bone and a sorry sight and I think Miss Rika planned to be a mother to her, but…”

Areum thought she caught a glimpse of something in Miss Kang’s eyes; not quite regret, though something equally dark and forbidden.

“But?”

“Miss Rika,” she said, “god rest her soul. She died so suddenly and Mr Kim was so grief stricken that Mr Han took over most of his affairs. He took charge of Elizabeth, intending to send her back after a few months, but Mr Kim is a changed man these days. I don’t think she will ever go back.”

The Mr Han that Moss described was considerate and kind and completely at odds with the one she had come to know. Areum wondered if it was all a joke; that she would arrive at Mr Han’s estate and find Elizabeth to be little more than a cat.

As a matter of fact, she could think of nothing else at the Dowager’s dinner table, the polite conversation around her barely crossing her ears. When the dowager first decided to ask her to play the piano for a third time, she almost jumped out of her seat.

“My goodness,” said the dowager, with a disapproving look, “lost in her own thoughts, this one.”

“I-I’m sorry Ma’am,” she said, lowering her fork and bowing her head. “I’ve just…I’ve never been in such fine company before.”

Only after she said it did she realise that, by extension, she had insulted Mr Han.

“I, sorry, I-“

The dowager merely laughed, seeming to find her discomfort incredibly amusing.

“As I was saying,” she said, picking up from where she left off, “my dear Areum, might you honour us with around on the piano? I’m curious of the sort of person my nephew would choose for a governess.”

Areum’s heart skipped a beat at such a proposition.

“I, ma’am…I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I really was not lying when I said I didn’t play well.”

Unfortunately, the Dowager would not hear her protests.

“Such humility! Such a rare quality these days-wouldn’t you agree, Jumin?”

“Ah, you’re right,” he said, as awkwardly as before. Under different circumstances, she might have found such a display amusing.

“As you wish, my lady,” she said, standing up from her chair and taking a good long glance at the piano on the other side of the room.

She told herself that she had seen the Finchley girls play and if she re-enacted their hand movements she might at the very least seem convincing. Unfortunately, she had forgotten how terribly complicated pianos were, with dozens of almost identical keys. Areum gulped, willing herself to stay calm even as she took a seat and reached for the songbook.

“Please excuse me,” said Mr Han, also leaving the table. He approached the piano without the slightest hesitation, seeming not to notice Areum’s stares as he took the music book from her and sat down himself.

“This is my aunt’s favourite,” he said rather louder than was necessary, turning to a particular page and lowering his hands to the keys. By some degree of good fortune, the piano was positioned in such a manner that the dowager would not see who was actually playing.

He reached for her hands and placed them across his own, seeming not to notice the close contact. In contrast, Areum barely heard the notes he played; too fascinated by the warmth of his hands and movement of his fingers. His hands were so much bigger than hers and nimble across the keys.

The Countess seemed enamoured by Mr Han’s playing, closing her eyes and nodding her head to the tune.

“Why did you say it?” Areum whispered, so quietly that only Mr Han would hear.

“Please be more specific.”

“That I was loyal and good natured.”

“Oh,” he said, attentions barely shifting from playing. “I see. Did it offend you?”

“No,” she said, “it’s just…”

She wanted to ask him if he meant it; that he really considered her in such a fashion.

“I’m surprised you can vouch for my good character given how little we’ve actually talked.”

“Would you rather I called you troublesome and a ruffian?”

“I think I preferred being a terrier.”

Mr Han laughed softly, playing a livelier set of notes.

“Duly noted.”

It was the first time in a long while that she had seen him smile in an honest fashion, if at all. For a moment, Areum forgot that she was a maid and Mr Han so deplorable. Nothing but the piano and her fluttering heart seemed to matter.

“Did you mean it?” She asked, voice trembling at the brashness of asking him outright.

Mr Han sighed, slowing the melody. For a time, she believed that he was not going to answer. Before long, the song was over and he rested her hands down against the keys.

”I do not lie, Miss Areum.”

“You’re lying to the dowager right now.”

“And perhaps I was lying to her then.”

* * *

That night, Areum barely slept, instead considering the hateful nature of one Mr Han. Miss Kang fell asleep the moment her head so much as touched the pillow, leaving the room silent but for her quiet snores.

Areum was almost tempted to haphazardly stretch out an arm or leg and wake her up, thereby having something to occupy her attentions beyond the memory of Mr Han’s hands on hers or the soft smile he showed only briefly. Her stay at the dowager’s home had filled her with many questions, the likes of which she had not previously believed possible. She had never spent so long deliberating another person’s character as she had Mr Han.

After many hours of tossing and turning, she finally gave up and pulled a shawl around her shoulders, meaning to take a short walk along the hall to clear her mind.

The dowager’s fine manor appeared entirely different after dark. Her fine trinkets and oil paintings appeared almost grotesque, blanketed as they were by shadow. Areum shuddered at her new surroundings and made her way towards the nearest window, which lay a short distance to the left of her own room.

She had not expected anyone else to be awake at such an unforgiving hour, much less wide awake and speaking of serious matters, so it came as something of a surprise when she turned the corner and saw candlelight shining through the gaps underneath a nearby door.

Ordinarily, she might have remembered her place; disappeared out of sight to where she was welcome. The business of rich folk with estates to their name was none if her business nor her concern, yet at the muffled sound of Mr Han’s voice inside, she was unable to resist creeping closer.

“You can’t hold it off forever,” came the dowager’s voice. “A man of your position…”

“I know,” said Mr Han. “But you, more than anyone should know of the stakes.”

“I can’t understand why you turned down that girl…Susan…Samantha…”

“Sarah.”

“Ah yes, that’s the one. Your father was most insistent upon it as a match.”

Areum’s eyes grew wide at the name. Had she not bumped into a Sarah only recently? One who, for that matter, had faced a grave injustice. In her wildest dreams, Areum would never have guessed that Miss Sarah’s past history with Mr Han-the history that left her shunned from high society and homeless-began with a marriage proposal.

Areum wondered at how such a terrible thing might have occurred and if it had any kind of connection to his interference in Effy’s affairs. As much as she was loathe to admit it, she doubted Mr Han would cast aside anyone without just cause.

Unfortunately, she was soon proven wrong in that respect-Mr Han revealing the awful truth as if he spoke to her directly.

“My father might not have been so fond of her if he knew she hadn’t a penny to her name.”

Areum didn’t understand why his words upset her so, leaving her running back to her room without a care for the racket she made.

How naive she had been to believe Mr Han could be anything but proud and judgemental; why had she questioned the extent of his hatefulness? Why did it bother her so much to hear him speak so cruelly of the common folk? His words were nothing she had not heard before.

Miss Kang stirred as Areum climbed back into bed, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her hair.

“What…what time is it? Did something happen?”

Areum rolled onto her side so that she faced the wall, her tears and sniffles obscured from view. She had no doubt that Miss Kang could tell she was distressed, but Miss Kang was a professional of common courtesies. She bade Areum a good night and pressed the matter no further.


End file.
